"This sucks," Amy says, voice quiet. She's leaning her head against the wall of the elevator, right above the buttons and at an angle that hides her face from me.

"Yes," I agree, watching the number above the doors slowly increase. "It does." I reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. She leans back into it, briefly turning her head to flash a quick smile. It's the tired kind, no less loving than the toothy ones that come with her laughter, but it's also heartbreakingly sad. I feel a stab of something wet and sorrowful and begin to consider telling Maudlin that we need to take a rain check-

Ding!

The elevator goes still smoothly enough that I can practically feel the money thrown into its construction.

"Ugh," Amy groans as the doors open to reveal a short, lavishly decorated hallway that ends with a pair of mahogany double doors. "Time to be social." She pulls herself upright and brushes a few strands of hair out of her face as we walk, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. "That means you too," she adds, playfulness creeping back into her voice.

"I can handle myself," I reply, taking in the oil paintings hanging on the walls, intricately patterned wallpaper, and fresh flowers resting in very ornate and likely very expensive vases. "I'm a independent business owner who works the floor of her shop. People are not an issue." It took some time to learn how to talk the talk, both for the white collar half of the job and the executive half, but relying on someone else to talk to customers wasn't an option, not with my reputation at stake.

"Business conferences and parties are very different things," Amy teases. She stops just outside the doors and spins around, spreading her arms wide. "How do I look?"

Maudlin was quite clear that our normal costumes wouldn't be nice enough for this party, but I'm still wearing little more than my armor, albeit with vines twining around and between the plates and a face plate that's less like a great helm and more like an opera mask. I still don't have a mouth and the area around my eyes is warped with a near-domino mask of etched rose petals, but I suspect that this will be closer to the expected dress code than, say, a mess of fangs.

Isidis has on something a little more formal.

It's an ankle-length white dress, strapless and slit up the right leg. A half-cape and hood combination hangs around her neck clasped with a small golden ankh, and her arms are covered by white opera gloves that run up to mid bicep. She's eschewed makeup save for a touch of eyeliner (because any hygiene issues caused by the buildup of dead skin in pores simply doesn't apply to her) and her hair is twisted up into a complex braid/bun combination that's secured by a pair of lacquered bone needles.

Simple, elegant, and beautiful to the point that I have to actively remind myself that we are both in a public place and about to go interact with other humans, and that ruining our looks with a frantic make-out session would be a bad thing.

"Passable," I say, tearing my roaming eyes away and pushing open the door as Amy squawks indignantly. Then I stop for a moment at the threshold and simply take in the sight before me.

When Maudlin said he was throwing a party, I thought he meant renting out a few of a restaurant's back rooms for the night, ringing up a few of our business partners, and introducing them to some of the less-scary capes. Ten, twelve people tops, maybe with a live band. Going to the Battery Wharf Hotel is more than a step up from that, but not so far as to be unreasonable.

What's not quite as reasonable is the sheer number of capes in the room.

Gallant and Victoria are off in a corner talking quietly to a nervous-looking woman in a pantsuit and red shawl. Vicky is sporting a genuine smile as Dean waves an arm around, armored bulk exaggerating his body language to nearly comedic levels. Valiance is standing near the bar on the right side of the room with a hologram floating over his palm, designs and schematics shifting and changing color as a pair of shorter Tinkers poke and prod at it, their monochrome color schemes a stark contrast to his red and gold. Vista is across the room by another source of alcohol chatting up an increasingly-uncomfortable man in chainmail at least a head taller and fifty pounds heavier than her who's staring into his glass of beer like he wants to drown in it. Vector is leaning against the far wall nursing something brown and frothy at the top, for once not in a hoodie and jeans. The rope of rags wrapped around his face doesn't go with his cheap suit at all, but the Changer in the backless black dress that lets her prismatic gossamer wings flutter freely jabbering away next to him doesn't seem to mind. I think I even see a cocktail dress well-tailored enough to belong to an Ambassador moving through the crowd, a simple featureless white mask hiding her face from view.

Those are just the capes I recognize. More crowd the room, a gentle chatter filling the air as the most parahumans I ever seen outside of a Endbringer fight circulate around the hall, a volatile solution of power and personality quirks that somehow hasn't blown up yet.

"'Ey, look who finally showed up!" a growly voice says. Maudlin slips out of the crowd and walks up to me, arms spread wide and a grin on his face that would send a herbivore into cardiac arrest. "How's my favorite cape partner-in-profit doin'?"

"Are you insane?" I ask calmly, mentally calculating the fastest route out of here. Grab Amy, dash for the window, throw up flak screen of splinters into the air to discourage pursuit, and if anyone tries to get in my way-

"No, I ain't," he says, snapping his fingers twice in front of my face, a move that would've been suicidal for anyone else. "I can give you the big picture if you wanna talk it out over a drink. Old Fashioned for you, and if the lady on your arm could make her order?" he asks, shifting his gaze to Isidis. She smiles politely at him.

We're just friends," she says, and the words make something sharp inside of of me writhe. "And I'll have a Sex on the Beach," she says, stepping in front of me and striding towards the closest bar. Maudlin looks at me, then to Isidis's retreating form, then back to me.

"It's complicated," I say, brushing past him and heading for the bar on the opposite side of the room. I nod to the people I'm on good terms with, ignore Metalhead's greeting, and sit down on a plush leather stool, beckoning the bartender with one hand. "Old Fashioned. Two of them." I leave him with an azalea as a tip and start steadily working away at the drinks, resisting the urge to turn around and look for Amy.

These are the hazards of dating a cape with a public persona when you want to have a civilian life. Amy and Taylor can't interact in public because it paints a target on Taylor's back, and White Rose can't go out with Isidis because then people will start looking at the people in Amy's life to figure out who her date is. Both of us knew that when we started going out, and most of the time it isn't a problem. We eat in, watch films on the needlessly large screen Vicky made us order, and make our own fun.

Then there are the times where we both have to go out and pretend we don't know each other.

I have no idea how Dean and Vicky manage it. Maybe he got inoculated against being in the public eye at an early enough age that managing a serious girlfriend, a cape life, and a job in an executive position with his father's shipping company are just things he can do. Maybe Vicky knows the PR game well enough that divorcing Gallant from Dean is something she can just do, and suppressing the urge to beat the costumed thug in a jester's hat asking Amy to dance-

I sigh and throw back the rest of the drink as I push past the thought, forcing myself to stay put and reach for the second glass.

This is going to be a long night.


"You mind loosening up a bit?" Maudlin asks, two more drinks and not enough time later. He's walked up to me holding an electric blue drink in a tall glass, apparently untouched, and his eyes look worried. "It's supposed to a party, not a fight to the death. A smile wouldn't be outta place." I give him a glare, hating the rush of relief I feel because if he's with me and talking it means that I'm not thinking about how I'm not with Amy on the dance floor-

"Isn't my scene," I say, resisting the urge to take another drink. I need to pace this one. Apparently Maudlin put a maximum in place, which I found out when I ordered my fifth and sixth tumblers and got only the fifth. I can't blame him for it, but I can grouse just fine.

"Yeah, and neither's hobnobbing with old money and new wives but you managed the meeting with those greybeards at the AIB alright," he says, sitting down next to me. The other bar patrons cleared out fast when I made it plain I didn't want to talk, and the few people who mustered up the courage to exchange words fled for better conversation soon after. That, and the DJ Maudlin hired started playing his set, which prompted Gallant and Vicky to take the floor, which prompted more people to try their hand at dancing, and now Isidis is dancing with a girl in green and blue with a beautiful smile and long black hair who needs to have hands removed for-

Once more I go back to the drink, staring at the slightly-melted ice cubes like they can do something to solve this. Maudlin groans next to me.

"I think I know what's up," he says, pushing his untouched drink towards me, "and it's fucked. Ain't gonna lie. But if you keep mopin' I'm gonna throw you out." I turn my head to look at him and see him wearing a smile that says he's serious. "I'm gonna leave this here," he says, pointing to the glass of liquor, "'Cause I have shit to do. And you both better be gone by the time I get back." With those parting words he stands up, shakes out his fur, and strides back into the crowd. Soon after I can hear him barking again, bringing laughter and soothing ruffled feathers as he makes the rounds. As he goes I taste musk and smell sweat. I blink twice, then grit my teeth, finish my drink, and pull the blue one in front of me as I consider his words.

Maudlin's a Thinker that can do a pretty scary Master impression, but he usually doesn't use his abilities on anyone he cares about, and when he does he's usually upfront about why even if it doesn't seem that way at first. So why'd he blast me, what did he do, and should I cut him open for it?

The why's pretty easy: I'm killing the party. I'm a small part of it, but if cutting me out of the pack makes this crazy gathering of parahuman firepower one percent more stable I should leave. Hell, if I had known that I'd just be drinking, moping, and watching Isidis dance with a different girl, a laugh visible from across the room that I can't hear-

I find myself lifting up the blue drink and force my hand back down. Ugh. I don't normally drink more than one cocktail a night. Two makes my thinking slower, three slips a haze between my actions and my thoughts, and I generally don't remember much past four.

I snort. There's a potential what, actually. Getting a drunk to shut up and listen instead of zoning out is completely within the scope of Maudlin's tricks, and it makes sense too. He's probably been talking down people all night long, making sure low-key disagreements don't turn into thrown punches, into a brawl that would level the building we're in, into a battle that would level city blocks and leave the reputation of everyone involved in tatters. Hell, I can't even be mad about it, so no vivisection by bone knife today for him.

I sigh and look into the glass, then lift it and take a sip. Sweet and sour. Actually not bad. I'll finish off this drink, then head out. I'd wanted to hang around and see if Maudlin hit it off with anyone, but at this time I'm more likely to hinder his attempts than witness any. Best I just-

"Hail, fair maiden! Might I ask you to dance?"

I stop in the middle of my second sip and turn around slowly.

A pitch-black breastplate covers his upper chest, lines suggesting inhumanly large pectoral muscles drawn onto it in gold. Chainmail is draped over his abdomen with bright, scarlet cloth visible between the gaps of his armor, and glossy pauldrons make his shoulders seem artificially broad. His gauntleted hands are curled in fists resting on his hips, the very picture of majestic self-assurance.

It would be more impressive if I wasn't at least a head and a half taller than him.

I look him dead in his glowing-red eyes, the rest of his face hidden behind a full-face black mask, and hold his gaze.

What?

"You appear to be less than entertained by our silver-tongued host, and rather than let you sink further into the life of a lush I have decided to grace you with my infernal presence," he says, extending a hand in a way I'm sure is meant to be chivalrous, but comes across as awkward. "Now then, to the dance floor."

I hold still for a moment longer.

Then I laugh. Several other capes laugh with me, some nicely, some not. Credit to Black, Red, and Gold, he takes it pretty well. I see a slight slump to his shoulders, a depression in his mask when he sucks in air, and then he's pulled himself back up.

"I see that I am not wanted. Farewell, White Rose," he says, turning on his heel. He doesn't have a cape, but I can tell he wishes that he could pull it off.

"No, wait," I say, motioning to the seat next to me as I take another sip of whatever drink Maudlin left me. "Tell me, did a case fifty-three with pink fur send you over?" I ask.

"The beast man, yes," he says, taking a small hop to get onto the stool. "He told me that you had found yourself listless, and that my particular brand of charisma would help. A drink," he says, raising a hand to the bartender. "One that matches hers."

"One Adios Motherfucker coming up," the bespeckled man says, maintaining a straight face even as Black, Red and Gold's hand falls to the countertop and I start laughing again. So that's what the drink is called. I'll have to thank Maudlin the next time I see him, because I haven't laughed this hard since Amy got into an innards fight with Dorian.

"Anyway, what's your name?" I ask once he has his drink. "I don't believe I've seen you around before."

"Indeed, my domain lies a tad farther afield," the cape says, lifting up the bottom of his mask to drink. The skin revealed is slightly scarred from acne, with several more prominent lines raised up and pale on his chin. "My full name is Mygoloth the Dastardly, though the local lawbringers find it easier to refer to me as My." I manage not to laugh at his deadpan delivery and nod once instead. Maybe I shouldn't scare this one off. Amy's having fun, so why shouldn't I?

"What do you know about me?" I ask, toying with my glass. It's nearly half empty, and I'm feeling flushed instead of disconnected now, a little floaty and more than a tad aggressive.

"Precious little," he replies, shaking his head. "My time is spent scouting the true villains, and once I had made my intentions clear to the justicars I found no pressing need to make inquiries into any others."

"But you know my name?" I inquire, shifting the rose petals on my mask to imply a raised eyebrow. I don't do public events, not anymore, but even without them I had figured that people with a stake in the semi-local cape scene would at least know of me.

"I confess, I would not have if Maudlin had not informed me," Mygoloth says, shrugging. "Please, illuminate me." I throw back the last of my Adios Motherfucker (name aside, it's not a bad drink) and leave the glass upside down on the bar before turning to look at him.

"Where to begin?" I start, tapping my chin thoughtfully.


"We should dance," I say, nodding twice as the idea gains more appeal. I haven't seen Amy in a while, but she looked like she enjoyed it when she was twirling around with those other pretty capes. My's been slipping me parts of his drinks as the night's gone on, and frankly everything seems like a good idea now.

"While I regret to turn down a request of any sort from a figure as esteemed as yourself, I feel obligated to inform you that the ability to move in time to music is not chief among my skills," My replies slowly, shaping his words with care. I think he's not used to drinking, and that the four halves of each Adios Motherfuckers he's had (I should ask Maudlin to make me those from now on) have gone to his head. "Furthermore, I have responsibilities that come with the rising sun-"

"Now," I interrupt, grabbing his hand and pulling him up as I slide off the stool. The height difference is even more apparent now that we're both standing, and I shrink my heels a little as I drag him towards the center of the room, almost laughing at his reluctance and the crowd's surprise. It's ballroom dancing, formal and calculated, and I wouldn't like my odds at not making a fool of myself if I wasn't sloshed.

But since I am I don't care.

I clasp hands with Mygoloth, an arm around his waist, and together we stumble through something like a waltz. I dimly remember Mom and Dad showing me the moves, long steps that always ended with the feet coming back together. I don't mangle My's toes, so I think I did alright. He's not so bad either, actually. He keeps up despite his professed clumsiness, gently guiding me away from the other dancers when I stumble towards them. He even manages a twirl or two, and before long I'm smiling behind my mask. It's not magical, not a night with Amy or a visit to the graveyard, but it distracts me for a song or three, nothing on my mind but the music and the movement.

Eventually My breaks contact with me at the end of a song and steps back out of the crowd with his back to the door. He bows, then straightens, mask as unreadable as ever. His hands are open though, and I think his stance is a little more relaxed than it was at the beginning of the night.

"As pleasing as this evening has been, I really must be going," he says, backing up towards the door. "May your foes quail in fear at your approach, and your allies always hold fast." I wave at him, sketching a smile across my mask in vines.

"I hope you have a good night," I respond as warmly as I can, and give him a brief wave. He's nice. I should look into him later. My nods back then walks for the exit, pushing open both doors and disappearing into the hallway. After he's gone I sigh, then begin the walk towards the other bar. No more companionship for White Rose, then. Maybe the other bartender doesn't know I've been cut off-

"Excuse me, White Rose?" a quiet voice calls out, high and tinkling like hollow glass wind chimes. I pause, pushing down a surge of irritation and turning towards the source.

It's the winged cape that was talking to Vector earlier, less than an arm's length away from me. Up close she looks even more inhuman, with six rings of color in each eye and skin so smooth I can't see any pores. Pretty, in a glossy, beetle-y sort of way.

"I couldn't help but notice that your date left and I was kinda sorta wondering if you wanted to keep dancing and if you needed a partner and that I could be that partner since I also don't have a date?" she says, words tumbling from her lips in an effortlessly melodic tune, shifting her gaze to stare over my shoulder. I open my mouth to refuse.

Then I reconsider.

"He wasn't my date, but I would love to dance with you," I reply, extending my hand, palm up, towards her. "I'm a little out of it," I warn her, leading us back to the pack at the center of the room. "I can't promise I'll be the best partner." The Changer laughs, the sound like silver bells struck by rain.

"I'll take that risk," she says, wings blurring into motion, lifting her off the ground in a shimmer of gasoline rainbows until we see eye to eye. "Besides," she teases, taking my other hand and pulling me close. "I'm a little out of it too," she whispers in my ear.

"What's your name?" I ask as a new song comes on, feeling the heady rush that comes from being in close proximity to a beauty, the liquor acting as an accelerant and turning her wings into arches of gemstone, making the night almost mystic as the light warps around her into a vivid bands of color.

"Shine," she says, a faint glimmer appearing around her eyes. "Now, how much do you know about tango?"


I dance with her for three songs, learning the intricacies of how to move when one party laughs at gravity. I politely decline a fourth but accept Valiance's hand as the music shifts from the ballroom forms to something a little faster. He's awkward, stiffer and more nervous than Shine was, but he also seems to know something about what he's supposed to be doing, and when he departs for the circle of Tinkers I can't say I regretted my time with him.

I continue to dance, slowly working through the alcohol in my system thanks to a combination of physical exertion and hors d'oeuvres. I lose track of my number of partners. Some are grotesque, some more perfect than real, and others human save for the masks across their faces, across their eyes, across their mouths. I fall deeper into the group, loosening up and sinking into the good cheer.

Then I find a partner with no mask.

"Hi," Isidis says, looking me dead in the eye and standing far closer than anyone else was willing to, close enough that I can imagine her body heat soaking into my bone. "I don't think we've danced yet." There's something in her voice, something soft and fragile. I recognize it from those times when I make mistakes, from when she doesn't communicate, from when things get bad between us for a while.

"No, we haven't," I reply, overwhelmed by the sudden Amy. Fortunately, the rest of me is not so passive, clasping my arms around her and pulling us back into the fold, into a close dance, both of my hands on her back and both of her arms around my neck. She sounds mad or sad or something bad and I don't know what went wrong. I curse what little liquor is left in my blood, the gentle floatiness it's causing an unforgivable barrier between me and her.

"You could have started dancing earlier," she says, staring resolutely at my neck as we sway. I nod, looking just over her head as I wrack my mind. Should I have gone with her at the start and damned the consequences? Shadowed her all night and risked being seen as a stalker? Should I have sought her out, made the effort to try and pretend like we were only friends, substitute a desire of affirmation for the crippling loneliness?

"I didn't feel like it," I whisper, thorns growing on my vines and flowers blooming in the gaps of my armor. Yes and yes and yes. Isidis is playing with my bones, if anyone asks. Powers are strange things and no one fully understands them.

"And then you did. And you danced with a lot of other people," she whispers, quiet enough that I lean down, trying to get closer to her voice, trying to understand. Was I not supposed to? Was I supposed to only dance with her? With no one? "You weren't looking for me."

"I was waiting," I murmur back. We're moving towards the edges of the group, slowly heading towards another doorway. "Waiting for you to chase me. To look for me. Waiting for my dances to become common enough to attract no notice." I scramble for any excuse besides I forgot, because how could I say that to her and I need to save face and pretend like seeing her with Vista didn't feel like steel in my lungs and what am I doing!?

Amy laughs once, but there's something hysterical in it.

"So was I," she says. "Waiting, waiting, waiting, for my knight in dying armor to find me." We're clear of the crowd now, and I back us through a door into a far less posh hallway that leads to either the bathrooms, the kitchen, or the roof, the door closing behind us. I pull her up, into my arms and tendrils of bone reach tighter, clinging, trying to pretend like I haven't fucked up.

"I was angry," I say quietly, pushing out more bone to shove open another door, reaching up and pulling the two of us up the staircase behind it. "Angry at the situation. At myself, at the rules, at how things are. I'm sorry." I thin my shell, thin it until nothing but a wafer separates us, translucent and almost golden in the fluorescent light.

"It's okay," she says, an odd thickness to her voice that tells me that it's not. I push open a second door to take us out into the chill night air, starless sky, cold gravel roof, and black waterfront view, desolate and rumbling with the indistinct sounds of the party behind us.

"Tell me what you want," I say, both hands free of armor, gently tracing her face, skin on skin once more. I don't press farther than that though as I have to shove down the bone that wants to emerge and put distance between us, to make it harder to hurt me. "Tell me what I can do to make this right. Please," I whisper, gently knocking my forehead against hers, the last word less begging and more prayer, quiet enough that I'm worried she didn't hear it. I surrender the initiative, an agonizing wait settling in as she refuses to meet my eyes, instead resting her palms on my shoulders, halfway between a hug and a shove.

For a moment there's a long, terrifying silence, and I feel like I'm on the edge of a cliff, looking down into darkness, into emptiness.

"Can we go flying?" she asks quietly, leaning into me, forehead knocking on my breast plate. I hug her as firmly as I can go without causing her any more pain.

"Of course," I say, wrapping us both in bone, limbs growing out below us and stiliting us towards the edge of the building, a construct of lattice and gossamer growing above and behind me. "Any time you want."

I step off the edge, dropping us both into empty space. Then I flap once and we're flying.


A/N: If anyone wants the songs, PM me.